Kristen smiled as she eased past him, the slight press of her hand on his upper arm helping him take the few steps into Emmy’s bedroom.
She was sitting up in bed, lavender sheet tucked across her middle and under her arms, her gray hair disheveled across her forehead. Her eyes widened on his face as he approached, and a small gasp escaped her. “Oh, Mitch.” Her voice shook. “Did I—”
“Aw, now. None of that,” he said softly, walking over and sitting in a chair by the bed. “We covered that yesterday.”
“W-we did?” She kept her focus on his right cheekbone, her lashes glistening.
“Yeah.” He held out one of the mugs. Steam rose above the rim, twirled in the sunlight that poured through the open window, and the scent of aromatic brew drifted between them. “It’s black. No sugar. Just how you like it. And I found the cups J—”
“Joe bought for me,” she said, finishing for him, her anguished expression receding a little. “He found them in a pottery store outside Helen when we honeymooned in the Blue Ridge Mountains. We went for a hike early one morning, stumbled on this little run-down cabin, and there they were.” She pointed at one delicate flower painted on the mug. “See the white one there? The one with the yellow tip on it? That’s an Eastern shooting star. Joe said that’s what I was to him. Precious and hard to catch. That was back when I ran just about everywhere. When I was young and strong.” She took the mug from him, grew quiet for a moment, then said, “Isn’t that funny?”
“What?” he asked.
“That I can remember that morning so clearly. Like it was yesterday. Like he should still be here on this bed, next to me.” Her chin trembled. “But yesterday I forgot I’d lost Cindy Sue. This thing is stealing from me. It’s taking things I don’t want to give. My thoughts, my words . . . pieces of my soul.”
Throat tightening, he cradled his mug in his hands, the scalding heat against his palms a welcome distraction from the burning sensation in his eyes. “You know that for sure?”
She nodded, staring down at her mug. “I found out two years ago. I was forgetful. Things seemed off, and Carrie suggested I go have a checkup. I got the news and came on home.” She shrugged. “What else do you do?”
Mitch focused on the long white curtains on the other side of the room. Watched them billow out and deflate with each push of the morning breeze. “There are specialists. We can ask about new treatments to slow the symp—”
“No.” Her tone had hardened, and she faced him. “It’s taking my time from me, too. An hour here, a day there.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to spend what good time I got left on waiting rooms and side effects. I want to be home with people who’ll treat me like I’m still me. I want to hear Sadie laugh louder, see Dylan smile more. I want to watch that corn grow. Help you and Kristen make this land breathe again. This farm and this family give me a reason to get up every day. To try.”
He scooted forward in his chair. “I’m going to stay and help you through this.”
“But your job—”
“It’ll wait. After I order a few things online and have them shipped, I can draw up plans here just as well as I can in New York. And I have some savings I’m going to use to make improvements here. Kristen told me she’s willing to help in whatever way you need her. You can count on both of us.”
Emmy turned toward the window. The curtains rippled faster on a stronger gust of wind, and outside the mist had faded from the property, providing a clearer view of the soggy red driveway, the freshly planted fields, and the solid blue sky.
“Kristen came out here to hide, you know,” she said. “Not sure what from, but some people do, thinking it’s a good place to disappear. Doesn’t take long for ’em to find out it’s not. There’s just the earth beneath your feet, the air in your lungs, and the sky above. The only thing in between is you—whatever’s in you—the good, the bad. Can’t hide from any of it. Can’t do nothing but choose what to hold on to and what to let go of.” She faced him again. “Can you understand that’s all I was doing with your father? I was holding on to the good I still saw in my son.”
Neck heating, he looked down and tightened his grip on his mug.
“There’s one more thing I want,” she continued. “I want to see you feel at home here one day. I want to know that, in your heart, you forgive me.”
The air left his lungs, pouring out of him and tugging him forward. “Emmy . . .” He reached out, squeezed her hand. “I want to understand. I do. And I’m going to try.”
A hesitant smile lifted her lips. “I’m not perfect—never have been. I’ve screwed up a lot in my life and made yours and Carrie’s harder. But I’d have given my life for David—just as I would for you. There was still good in him, and I couldn’t just throw him away.” Her shoulders lifted helplessly. “Is it okay for a parent to give up on their own child? To stop loving him? Because I couldn’t. I tried, but I couldn’t.”
Mitch rubbed his hand over his jaw. “I mattered, too, Emmy. So did Carrie. I just . . . I feel like you were putting him over our well-being. Over the rest of the family. Sometimes there’s no more hope of someone changing.”
“But how do you know that for sure?” A deep sadness shadowed her expression, and her eyes eagerly questioned. “How do you know when there’s no more hope?”
He moved to answer, then stopped. Recalled the pain and disgust he’d hauled up the sludge-filled driveway when he’d arrived weeks ago; examined the renewed energy and peace that had pulsed through him just hours ago on the porch, at sunrise, when he’d held Kristen in his arms. That unexpected feeling continued to well inside him at just the thought of her. At the prospect of something fresh, whole, and pure—a chance to start over.
“I don’t know.” His attention strayed to the open window. The scenery outside was brighter and more welcoming than he could’ve ever imagined.
“I’ve never been able to step outside and not feel something bigger than me out there,” she said quietly, her tone searching. “And I still believe miracles come along out of nowhere. Hoped for one for David and this place—no matter how ignorant, superstitious, or naive that may be to some. Where’s the wrong in hoping?”
Heart aching, he looked back at her. Studied the sagging muscles in her arms, which had lost their definition, and the feisty gleam in her eyes, which defied the exhaustion lurking in the cloudy depths. And despite everything she’d lost, all the pain she’d suffered, the almost insurmountable odds and opposition she now faced, she still fought. Still dreamed. Still loved.
“There’s no wrong in it, Emmy. None at all. But you’ve never needed anyone’s permission or approval on that. You’re not asking for it now, are you?”
The desperate look in her eyes faded, and defiance flooded her expression. “No.”
He set his mug on the nightstand, leaned over, and kissed her forehead. “You’re going to see this place become whole again. I promise.”